


fic, House: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

by bell (bellaboo)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, M/M, Stalking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-14
Updated: 2009-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-18 00:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/183190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaboo/pseuds/bell





	fic, House: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

  
I wrote this for [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/anna_bm/profile)[**anna_bm**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/anna_bm/) in December, and have only now gotten around to posting it. Insert the usual C &C welcoming spiel here.

 **Title** : Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You  
 **Pairing** : House/Wilson, some Wilson/Bonnie  
 **Rating** : R  
 **Word Count** : ~570 words  
 **Summary** : House watches Wilson.

House made it obvious.

He showed up to the restaurants Wilson took Bonnie to in gigantic dark glasses, blood-red Metallica t-shirts, and practically yelled at the waiters in a fake (bad) French accent. “Non, non, I said ze bubble water!”

He followed Wilson on his solitary Sunday walks no five meters behind, hands in pockets and humming the ‘I’m not up to anything’ tune that labeled guilty actions loud and clear.

When House stole Wilson’s mail, he ripped open the envelopes and returned them that way, not bothering to hide the evidence of tampering. He even sometimes left written commentaries (“$241 on sex toys? Relationship with Bonnie going down the drain?” and “Awww your mommy loves you”).

Wilson responded, as could be expected, with exasperation at these blatant spying overtures. But he was a pretty good sport about it anyway. “Care to join us?” he sometimes invited House in the restaurants. (House generally declined, preferring his far-away seat a couple of tables over. Bonnie was a terrible conversationalist and she chewed too loud.)

Or Wilson would tell him, “The sex toy was going to be a surprise birthday present.” (House did, indeed, receive a butt plug from Wilson that year. It came with the note “So you’ll have to shove when I tell you do so. Happy birthday.”)

And sometimes House had to wonder if Wilson went on his ‘solitary’ Sunday promenades with the intention of having it end up a walk with company; House did almost always join him.

House kept up the obvious spying gestures to hide the subtler, more invasive ones.

Wilson often asked House where his money went. There were several answers to that, one of them being the latest and best in technology. Cameras. Microphones. GPS trackers. There wasn’t a space in Wilson’s life that House didn’t have bugged to the gills. Not his car, not his office, not a single room in his home.

House sometimes suspected if Wilson didn’t know about all the items tracing and recording him, but he waved off the doubts. If Wilson didn’t know, great. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. If Wilson _did_ know, it didn’t matter, because if he hadn’t berated House for it yet, then it was permission to continue.

(There was one time, when Wilson was coming inside of Bonnie, that he looked directly into the camera. Not a glance towards the camera, not in the camera’s general direction, but straight into the lens. It was a long, hard stare and it made House’s heart almost stop; it was like _he_ , the one in front of the screen, was the one being watched, rather than the person actually being filmed. House has watched that moment over and over, that piercing glare in the throws of pleasure. But Wilson couldn’t have known about that camera. Couldn’t have. So it was just a coincidence. It had to be.)

It’s easy for House to justify his obsession, his reasons for plugging in and listening to Wilson’s private conversations, watching his pedestrian, mundane dramas. Wilson was interesting, and this was a means of character study. House would understand Wilson’s quirks better by direct, secret observation. And, in some ways, watching Wilson was better than TV: it brought in all the flavors, from comedy (Wilson’s clumsiness, his dry humor), to dramedy (his fights-- “discussions,” as he called them-- with Bonnie), to porn.

It was like Big Brother, only Wilson was never, ever going to be voted off.


End file.
